Anniversaries
by GloriousPond
Summary: Sometimes Sherlock forgets important dates. But he sure knows how to make for it.
1. Chapter 1

At breaking codes, Sherlock Holmes excels. Give him any cipher, and he will hand it back solved within moments. There isn't a code Sherlock Holmes can't crack.

Not any, that is, except one: the "woman code." Why women can't just say what they mean is the solitary mystery he simply cannot solve.

Molly has little ways of doing things that leave Sherlock baffled. When he leaves the cap off the toothpaste or squeezes in the middle instead of from the end, she sighs exasperatedly and only fixes it where he can see - even if it means coming to find him in the kitchen. When she is upset, she stares at him gloweringly until he notices and asks what the matter is - even if it takes a week, because that has been known to happen. And heaven help Sherlock when the middle of the month rolls around. That week is a mess of chocolate (only truffles, or so help her...), "I'm _fine_"s, inexplicable tears, and angry glares.

Sherlock doesn't understand it in the slightest.

So when Molly approaches him about a certain anniversary, he doesn't catch on. The way she words the conversation is completely devoid of direct references to what Thursday is. Or if she does mention it, Sherlock has completely deleted meaning from his mind.

"What are your plans for Thursday night?" Molly inquires, innocently enough. Sherlock continues to study the bit of material beneath the microscope. He grunts incoherently.

"Because, well," she says in her very Molly way. "There's this nice new restaurant downtown that I've been dying to try. And I've got a new dress that I haven't had occasion to wear yet, and...Sherlock, are you listening?"

He looks up, annoyed. "Yes, what?"

"I just want to celebrate this. We didn't do anything special last year," Molly says, twisting her ring nervously. Sherlock blinks in confusion.

"What exactly are we celebrating?"

Molly casts an obvious glance at the ring on his left hand, then at her own. She looks back at him. His expression is blank, not understanding.

Her eyes get a bit moist.

"Never mind, forget it." She picks up a stack of case files and leaves the room. Sherlock stares after her a moment, dumbfounded, then returns to the microscope.


	2. Chapter 2

"It's your wedding anniversary, Sherlock!" John intones. He moves around the counter to where Sherlock sits, flopping down another pile of evidence from Lestrade. "For heaven's sake, you've been married for two years. You forgot the first one too!" Sherlock scowls.

"Is this something you people celebrate?" he queries. "It's not like it's anything special to have been married for two years." John sighs in exasperation and pulls out his phone to web search the restaurant Molly mentioned.

"Alright, Sherlock," he tells the forgetful detective. "I'll make the reservations, and you make certain Molly knows you've made plans."

Sherlock kicks the bottom of the desk in annoyance (he is sometimes prone to tantrums).

"Fine," he spits. "But I am _not_ wearing a tie."

* * *

Molly stands over the body in the lab, pulling back the eyelids to examine the pupil dilation. She nearly slices through the skin with the probe when a pair of long arms snake around her waist from behind.

"Sherlock," she sighs in amusement. "What have I said about affection when I'm working?" He grunts into her neck. She puts down the probe and pulls off her gloves. At least this is a better reception than earlier. She twists in his hold and smiles up at him.

"I've reconsidered," he tells her. "Dinner. You wear that dress and we'll go out." Molly fingers his collar musingly. So he hadn't forgotten. Or at least John hadn't.

"The place I mentioned? The one next to the Eye?"

"Of course," Sherlock confirms, a falsely matter-of-fact statement. He's assuming that's the one John showed him, and crosses his fingers behind her back that he got it right. Molly smiles and accepts his confidence. Though she does have the sneaking suspicion that this was all John's doing. At least they're going out this year.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock stands in the front room of the flat, tugging at his tie. Molly had insisted. And he does everything for Molly. Mrs. Hudson bustles into the room without warning, as per usual.

"Oh, Sherlock!" She stops short when she sees him in his new suit. It takes her only a moment to recover from her surprise and start dusting him down, straightening his tie.

"She got you into one of these, I see." She winks. "She's a real lady, Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson steps back and admires her handiwork, moving forward once more to tug on a stray curl of hair. Sherlock swats at her playfully.

"Really, Mrs. Hudson!" She just smiles back and pats his cheek, but her attention is quickly diverted to the hallway. Sherlock turns in that direction, and there's Molly.

She was serious about the dress.

It is a modest silky red thing, with small cap sleeves and a scoop neck. Hugging her gently curving figure, it cinches slightly at the waist and flares out in a full skirt, ending just at her knees. Her hair curls gently, and she has it swept back from her neck where it falls over one shoulder.

Sherlock finds himself catching his breath.

Molly blushes bashfully.

He clears his throat and steps toward her, offering his arm.

"Mrs. Holmes," he whispers, "you look simply ravishing."

"Oh stop it, Mr. Holmes," Molly responds playfully, but inwardly she could not be more pleased. Sherlock guides her toward the door, letting her go only long enough to help her into her coat and put on his own. Mrs. Hudson watches happily from the corner she has resigned herself to. Molly exits the room, and just before Sherlock follows, he turns back with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"The game, Mrs. Hudson, is afoot!" And with that, he swishes out the door after his wife.


	4. Chapter 4

It's a quaint little place, this restaurant Molly requested. She's always had a taste for Italian. The Eye of London isn't directly visible from the restaurant, but it's near enough that the bustling of the streets around it can be heard, and a faint blue glow can be seen reflected in nearby windows.

The restaurant itself is a friendly, family-owned place. It has the stereotypical red and white striped awning out front, with little café tables and loads of planters filled with flowers and small shrubs. Inside, the air smells of tomato sauce and garlic, with accordion music playing quietly beneath the murmur of voices. The lamps give off a dim, but homey yellow glow, and there are even more plants hanging from the walls.

Upon entering, Sherlock helps Molly out of her coat, and hangs it on the coat rack. After removing his own, the couple is seated by a pleasant, rounder woman with dimples and a ruffled apron. They are given menus and left to themselves.

"Everything here is in Italian," Molly points out. "I didn't realize…" She trails off, getting flustered as she is prone to do.

"Don't worry, dear, I can translate," Sherlock responds in a way that conveys his regular know-it-all tone that only sounds softer when he is talking to Molly. She smiles appreciatively.

"I should have known you speak Italian…"

They spend a few moments poring over the menu, with Sherlock explaining dishes and Molly deciding. Soon, the pleasant woman comes back and they order. Once again they are left alone. Sherlock reaches across the table and takes Molly's hand.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Molly runs her fingertips over the back of his hand. They've been married for two years, and she is still always surprised by how big they are. She meets his eyes and smiles teasingly.

"Much better than last year."


End file.
